


Best Friends and Other Species

by sheron



Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Dogs, Fandom Stocking 2018, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28657587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Ward gets a dog.
Relationships: Ward Meachum & Danny Rand
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Fandom Stocking - 2018





	Best Friends and Other Species

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> Originally written for [Fandom Stocking](https://fandom-stocking.dreamwidth.org/734603.html). (I'm posting some works from other places to AO3.)

When he was five, Ward had actually desperately wanted a dog. He'd already realized by then his father was never going to allow him one and occupied his time fantasizing about adopting a puppy as soon as he turned eighteen. That was before that sort of thinking was kicked out of him, of course. By the time he did turn eighteen, life had looked very different. A puppy just didn't fit. When Joy adopted her dog Ward had even given her grief about it, something he's reminded of now he's staring into the eyes of the little orange fur-ball with a wagging tail. 

Back then, Joy had been lonely, she had wanted someone to come home too. Ward only let himself appreciate the depths of that emotion when they came back to New York and Danny shacked up with Colleen again. They'd lived out of each other's back-pockets for nearly a year, and Ward had gotten used to falling asleep to the steady sound of another person's snoring, to having someone greet him when he stumbled into the hotel room. It had seemed annoying at the time, but being back again and alone... he missed it. 

Now that he has bought into all that garbage about how great it was to have a dog and actually got one it feels more like an impulse than a long-time childhood dream. It feels like a fuck you to Dad, again. Harold would have wanted him to get a Rottweiler or something, so Ward took special glee in picking out the cutest, fluffiest Corgi he could find.

As two blue puppy eyes stare at him soulfully from the floor, Ward regrets his life choices immensely.

"Stop," he growls. The puppy lets out a low whine and wags his tail once. "No," Ward says to end it once and for all.

The fucking puppy barks and springs on the short stubby legs, landing on the bed next to Ward with a bounce.

"No," Ward says again, making a weak shooing motion. If he wasn't so damn sick... but it's like that reminder sends another shiver and a wave of weakness through his body, and Ward slumps down on the pillows, panting. Cold shivers run through him, even as sweat beads his brow. His feet are freezing in that clammy way that means he could probably use a shower, if he could just crawl over there. Ward considers it, but just laying there breathing is quite enough for him.

The puppy's cold wet nose lands on his cheek.

"Go away," Ward starts to growl, but the cold is actually a nice sensation against the feverish heat of his skin. The puppy licks his jaw and damn if that isn't the most action Ward has gotten in over a year.

That thought leads to a thought of Bethany, which leads to a though of Ben. His kid, damn. That still has the power to make Ward dizzy. Ward can't afford to be sick because it's Thursday and Saturday he's got visitation rights.

He's a moron because of all breeds he could have picked he got himself a Corgi. _After_ the adoption papers were signed, and the dog was running in circles around his kitchen, like a very fluffy, very bouncy ball of fur, Ward had thought to look up the breed details. Corgis herded small kids and nipped at their ankles. By all rights, he should have taken the puppy back immediately, but it was small and it was yapping quietly and Ward had been weak.

So now he has a child-unfriendly dog in his big empty house. And he has the flu.

At least he has a backyard to let the dog outside. When Ward got this house he'd been thinking his kid, his son, might want to play in the backyard eventually, when he's older — God, he's almost fifteen months old, it's _crazy_. But now admittedly, it's nice to have because the fucking puppy can go run around like his tail is on fire for about thirty minutes every day and all Ward has to do is throw around some balls. He doesn't even need to leave the porch.

The dog walker comes in the evening and takes the puppy around a bit. It's good for them to socialize with other people or they bark. (They bark a lot. Ward pops another ibuprofen just thinking about it.) 

The puppy continues to lick at his jaw, paws set on his chest, tail wagging slowly. At some point he must doze for a while because he wakes up to the distinct shape of an all too familiar back: Danny is sitting in a lotus position next to him on the bed, his face in profile. His eyes are closed. He has a key for the house, but still, what the fuck?

"Hi," Ward says dryly. It's a croak.

Danny startles and turns around, his expression brightening. "You're awake."

"You're sitting on my bed."

"I came by to check on Roger here," Danny says nodding in the direction of the puppy. The dog seems to have migrated somewhere in the vicinity of Ward's thighs, and is now laying spread out on his lap like a very small very warm comforter. It's actually kind of neat, but Ward throws the puppy off because... Just because.

Danny frowns at him, then shrugs. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I dog-walked at five in the morning in February while sick with a flu." He'd had hangovers better than this. "What time is it?"

"It's seven pm. Did you sleep the whole day?" At that point Danny hops up off the carpet. The puppy lifts his head off Ward's lap and looks at Danny. Danny looks at the dog.

Ward waits for something to happen, but the two of them are as still as they can be. Danny... Ward hopes to god it's the fever making him hallucinate because Danny and the puppy are staring into each other's eyes and it's like they're _communicating_. Did Ward accidentally acquire himself one of those Foo dogs or whatever? Because not even his luck is that bad.

"Are you talking to my dog?" Ward asks blearily and Danny cuts him a quick look, amused blue eyes twinkling.

"Don't be ridiculous," Danny says with a snort. Then he turns and fucking _winks_ at the pup. The puppy wags his tail twice, hops off the bed and runs over to his towel in the corner, laying down obediently. Ward needs to remember to get him a proper dog bed.

Danny nonchalantly turns his eyes to Ward and clasps his hands together. "So. I can make some chicken soup?"

"Okay," Ward croaks. He could eat. Danny is off to putter in the kitchen already. He's not a bad cook, as they've discovered in their travels. Ward glances suspiciously at the puppy, but he's just laying there with his head on his paws contentedly, staring at Ward like he's fascinating. Like the puppy has complete and utter faith in him. Like any second now Ward will do something to make the puppy's whole damn _day_. That kind of look. 

So maybe not a Foo Dog. Maybe the silent communication is just a Danny thing. Ward has gotten used to marking his days by Danny things.

Ward rolls over and riffles in the drawer of the nightstand for the chewed on ball he hid there when he had wanted some peace earlier. He smirks when the puppy's head flies up, ears up and watchful. It's so astonishingly easy to make this dog happy. Nothing in life should be this easy; it feels almost like a trick. 

He throws the rubber ball and the puppy chases it, around the legs of the coffee table and sliding clumsily on the slick wooden floors, until he disappears out of sight somewhere under the bed and all Ward hears is delighted growls as the ball is captured and killed.

Laying in bed, still a bit feverish and weak, Ward smiles up at the ceiling.

Yeah, he's still sick, but he's no longer cold.


End file.
